


Mutability

by theskywasblue



Category: Saiyuki
Genre: M/M, Romance, Slice of Life, Speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-08
Updated: 2010-07-08
Packaged: 2017-10-10 11:01:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/99015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theskywasblue/pseuds/theskywasblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The more things change...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mutability

It's the ass-crack of dawn, the sky blending twilight blue with purple and pink along the edge of the horizon and a low mist seems to be boiling up out of the ground, like the steam rising up over a pot of hot water.

Gojyo shivers and stamps his feet, curses once for good measure, then warms his hands around his lighter a moment before actually lighting his cigarette. Smoke swirls warm and bitter into the deepest part of his lungs and he feels a little better, though there's cold dew on his face.

"Ya know, I notice Sanzo-sama never does these jobs."

"No," Hakkai agrees, his voice low, as if someone might hear them, though not even the birds are out of bed yet. "Never."

"After all this damn time it would be nice if something could change. Lazy bastard. Right now he's up at that fucking temple, snug as a..." Gojyo's teeth chatter a little, "snug as a fucking bug and here we are already done a day's hard fucking work."

Hakkai nods sympathetically, though he looks like he's not really listening. The mist has made his hair sit completely flat and clump into dark ribbons; even the lenses of his glasses have attracted condensation. The rescued artefact is cradled in the crook of his arm, wrapped in a handkerchief. He carries it a little like a man might carry a baby, casual, yet protective. It was going to be sold for a small fortune, more money than Gojyo has ever seen in his life. For a moment he thinks they could do that too, sell the damn thing and run off to a tropical island somewhere, just sun and salt water and fancy coloured drinks that are blindingly alcoholic, served with little paper umbrellas in them.

But Sanzo would track them down and feed them their own guts if they tried. Besides, Gojyo happens to know the gods exist, and though they're lazy fucks, he doesn't want to risk getting on their bad side after all the shit he's been through; so better not.

"How much did he promise us for this job?"

"Hmm?" Hakkai blinks, stumbles a little and rubs his eyes. He's tired, Gojyo realizes. Gojyo is tired too; they've been up for at least twenty-four hours, and neither of them is as young as they used to be.

"Oh," Hakkai catches on eventually, "enough really."

"Sure," Gojyo mumbles, "cheapskate."

Really he shouldn't be so condescending. Sanzo has kept them employed the last five years, supplementing Hakkai's tutoring income and Gojyo's gambling one with simple fetch jobs that occasionally involve knocking a few heads together; enough to keep Gojyo from getting bored and fat.

The money doesn't even matter. After five years Hakkai still has to argue _up_ most of the prices at the market. Heroes never have to pay full price and all that. Still, Gojyo likes to be compensated for being deprived of sleep. Strange how much easier it was to live on cigarettes and coffee when he was nineteen and twenty, and to go without seeing his bed, or any bed at all for that matter, for days at a time.

"Am I getting old?"

Hakkai chuckles, smothers a yawn on the back of his hand. There's a bead of water on his temple, but no grey hairs. "We are. Gradually. It's a process, you see."

"Very funny."

Hakkai smiles - affectionate, tolerant, beautiful. "You are hardly old, Gojyo. Though it does seem, sometimes as if we should be older than we are, doesn't it? Especially on misty mornings."

Gojyo's not sure what the mist has to do with anything, but it's true all the same.

The mist recedes and the birds start to sing. The sky turns glassy orange as Hakkai and Gojyo climb the temple steps where a young acolyte is sweeping away the first-fallen leaves. He smiles at them as they pass.

The Abbot - Gojyo can't remember his name, but Hakkai seems to know each and every resident of the temple down to the youngest novice just at a glance - greets them in the courtyard and offers to take them to their rooms. Gojyo's body screams instantly in relief, but Hakkai says, "Oh no, we won't be staying."

The Abbot makes a _it can't be helped_ gesture. "Goku-san was quite insistent that you be made to stay and rest."

It's strange to hear the monks - or anyone for that matter - calling the monkey _Goku-san_; but then again the kid has probably earned it. And anyhow, he's not so much a kid anymore, not a whiny brat.

Not as much at the very least; it's obvious in the way Sanzo has slackened his complaints about Goku's noise since they returned from India.

There’s a room in the temple now where they stay so often it could almost be considered ‘theirs’. Gojyo strips down and crawls into the bed while Hakkai stands at the door, saying _yes_ and _no need to trouble yourself_ and other polite, repetitive things until he’s finally able to shut the door. The window shades are next, and the room is cloaked in gold-tinted darkness before Hakkai slides under the covers next to him.

“Your feet are cold.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Not a big deal.”

Hakkai’s skin smells water-sweet, like damp plant-life. Gojyo breathes against the back of his neck and he shivers, but that’s nothing new.

“Next time, no all-nighters.”

Hakkai smothers a yawn, and something that might be laughter, “Maybe you are getting old after all Gojyo.”

Gojyo falls asleep, wakes to an intense disorientation sometime around dusk, not really knowing if he has actually slept, if the sun is coming up or going down behind the shade, if anything has changed at all. Hakkai is cross-legged on the bed drinking tea and reading the newspaper. He reaches over and runs his fingers through Gojyo’s hair without either of them saying anything, and instantly even if he couldn’t remember his own name, the world has an axis on which to turn.

“You sleep like a teenager,” Hakkai tells him, “twelve hours. Goku was most upset. Sanzo thought you had died.”

“Hoped more like.” Gojyo sits up, clearing his throat, and reaches for his smokes. There’s a meal on a covered tray next to them on the bedside table.

“Hardly. That would be far too much change for him to cope with at once.”

But things do change. Seasons mostly; but Goku gets less noisy, Sanzo gets less bitchy – though only by degrees noticeable to those who spent the better part of five years crossing the continent with him – he and Hakkai though, stay pretty much the same.

Which is okay too.

“It’s going to be a long autumn,” Hakkai says, reading off the pages in front of him.

“What does that mean?”

“Unseasonably warm, I think.”

“I could go for that,” Gojyo finishes his cigarette, remembers to smother it in the ashtray rather than on a clear edge of the serving tray. “It was fucking cold last night.”

Gojyo picks at some of the cold food; Hakkai flips through the paper, the pages rustling like old leaves. In the distance the temple bells toll and Gojyo thinks he can hear the monks chanting. He lets his head settle onto Hakkai’s shoulder, lets out a long breath.

“So, we should be going home, right?”

“I was thinking we might stay – at least until tomorrow,” Hakkai’s cheek leans against the top of his head, “for something different.”

Gojyo hears the unspoken _didn’t you want something different?_

“Nah,” he slides his arm around Hakkai’s waist, “I’m fine the way things are.”

-end-


End file.
